


Cursed

by m00se



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Ritual Goat Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m00se/pseuds/m00se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beacon Hills was cursed.</p>
<p>And despite what everyone else in the pack seemed to think it wasn't Stiles' fault - mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cursed

Beacon Hills was cursed.

It wasn't because of the Hale fire or the Argents. It wasn't because of the Kanima or the Alpha Pack. Though at times it had certainly seemed as though the town had been cursed, that had been more of a figure of speech. Like, of course all these bad things happened, we're cursed.

They weren't talking figuratively anymore, the town was quite literally _cursed_.

And despite what everyone else in the pack seemed to think it wasn't Stiles' fault - _mostly_.

"Oh come on, give me a break here, as soon as I figured out what they were really doing I tried to stop it." Stiles pleaded uselessly because the key word in that sentence was _tried_. "And really how was I to know that our friendly neighborhood wiccans were secret society bad guys." So maybe finding that red altar in their basement had been somewhat of a sign in hindsight, but Stiles really couldn't be blamed for not knowing what was normal when supposed hippies were concerned. Although, Stiles argument might as well have fallen on deaf ears because Derek couldn't seem to be able to pay attention to Stiles' well thought out excuses when he was holding the crumbling handle of his car door in his hands. "It's not like I didn't pay for it."

Derek growled and scowled at Stiles, his eyes slowly being drawn away from the horror that was the remains of his beloved black Camaro. That car was the only thing that Stiles had ever been convinced that Derek cared anything positive for and its ruins weren't helping _anything_. 

Stiles wanted to take a step back instinctively, but after a full year of the sourwolf Hale experience he knew it wouldn't be doing him any favors, because _prey_ runs not pack. So he held his ground with as much courage as he could muster under that circumstances and very purposefully didn't look anywhere near his eyes - because, despite all the practice, angry red alpha eyes would probably make him flee. 

" _Fix it!_ " Derek's arm was across his throat and his back was hitting the rusted door of the previously new Camaro and it took Stiles a second to reconfigure his mind to the sudden change in position.

"I would love to, really I would. In fact, I am pretty sure out of the entire town I am the person most looking forward to this entire escapade being over," but then he took a quick glance towards the flashing eyes. "Well, at least second person most looking forward to it being over. Unfortunately, that might be more difficult than I had hoped. The wiccans, or I guess I should call them dark witches now, took off when I was unconscious. You remember, from the whole 'keeping the town from being cursed' thing. So, I'll need some help."

Derek's eloquent response was the growl and push him harder into the car - which gave a precarious creaking and cracking sound in concert as a response.

"So killing the help probably isn't going to be useful in this scenario." Stiles tried his best to squeak out from beneath the alpha's glare. Stiles had kind of already been punished, too. At least, he would call being cursed ample punishment. On the bright side, he was the only _person_ cursed in Beacon Hills.

Stiles almost moaned in relief as he heard the coughing groan of his godforsaken jeep come up behind them. He could have kissed Lydia and Erica as they jumped out of the car in almost synchronized beauty. Derek released him and Stiles almost stumbled to the ground from the absence of the weight. 

The Carmaro's creaking became louder and Stiles winced when the bang of the metal hitting the asphalt reached him. He didn't have to look to know that one of the Camaro's doors had fallen from its hinges.

"Derek." Stiles was convinced Lydia was the most amazing person that had every existed as she strolled nonchalantly past the still red eyed Derek and calmly grabbed Stiles' collar and whacked him across the head. His head snapped a little to the side and his thoughts were a little jumbled, but he definitely recognized as Lydia pulled him by the collar towards his mostly still the same jeep.

There was a little more rust on the edges and the seat padding was disappearing, but all things considered she was still working which was more that could be said for Derek's car.

This was mostly due to the way that the curse worked. It targeted the things that still had a lot of life left in them. The brand new things became very old, _very_ quickly, but the old things just stayed old. 

What no one seemed to be able to understand besides Stiles was that it could have been much worse than a mere car.

"We're back at the train station for a little while." Erica informed Derek softly. She had more than enough experience at keeping her alpha under control by this point and every word she said pulled a little of the red from his eyes. "We figure it is the most structurally sound building we known right now." Derek nodded.

"I'll meet you there." Derek turned around and stared back at his car and Stiles didn't know if that meant he just wanted more brooding time or if he was actually going to try and do something about the problem. 

"Move it, Stilinski." Lydia nudged him towards the door and Stiles winced again. He would openly admit that the criticism in the way she said his name hurt. She hadn't called him by his last name for a few months and he had been finally starting to get used to it. He sighed and opened the jeep door to get in ignoring that he had to tug a little harder to get it to close and the cough that it gave when he was fully seated.

Erica gave one last nod to Derek and climbed in behind Lydia.

-.-.-.-

The abandoned train station looked exactly the same as when they had left it, which definitely said something about their previous choice of hang out. Considering that the other place they had hung out would have also looked exactly the same - because a burned out husk of a house in the middle of the forest certainly couldn't get any worse.

Boyd was standing outside the door in a parody of a bodyguard, but when the three of them entered he followed. 

Stiles was stopped short by the appearance of Allison sitting at a table in the center of the dirty station. After the breakup the animosity between the wolves and the Argents had made it very difficult for Allison to be the same kind of friend she had been. Especially since the whole Derek and Scott debacle that had ended in the death/suicide of her mother. Sure during the mess of the alpha pack she had appeared in her Katniss like glory to kill some things, but that had always been due to her duty as hunter, not any perceived connection to the pack. So, seeing her sitting at the table like she was just another piece of the woodwork was slightly disconcerting.

"Allison, any news?" Stiles could kiss Lydia and would have if she would've allowed it. The girl skipped over the bullshit of small talk and got straight to the problem. She slipped into the seat between Jackson's scowl and Allison's apathy like the butter knife cutting through the tension. 

Scott sat across from Allison with only the slightest puppy dog longing in his eyes. Isaac sat next to him and Erica fell to the seat next to Isaac getting comfortable. Boyd sat next to Jackson and Stiles next to Scott which mean Allison and him had the best isolation from Derek who would be sitting in the seat at the head of the table that was currently empty. 

"Dad woke up this morning to a disintegrating bed and groaning house. As did most of us I assume." Allison didn't look at Stiles though he knew it was directly at him. Stiles had woken up with a pounding headache in the wiccans' house in a soft bed. There were a pile of aspirin and his ADHD medicine next to the bed and the politest note Stiles had ever read from megalomaniac villains that informed him that he was no longer welcomed in their Circle and he had been cursed for his betrayal. 

Stiles had laughed at the time because really what was the appropriate response to something like the situation he had found himself in. What sort of bloodthirsty murderers tucked you into bed and gave you pain medication after you ruined their evil s  
schemes? 

"What sort of resources do you have?" Lydia asked.

"Some cans of food survived and we have some old rifles and muskets that were tucked away. They probably won't be that effective, but it's something." Which lead Stiles down a road he hadn't even considered before.

Most of the food was probably rotten by this point which was something he hadn't considered when he had his great idea to modify the curse. Though that wasn't that big of a deal. The curse was probably only spread out to a few nearby towns. If they could drive about an hour away they would be able to find fresh food. There was only so far that magic could spread when it was being changed from its original purpose and if Stiles had done nothing else he had certainly done that.

"What's this thing do exactly?" Scott's not so eloquent question cut straight to the problem and Stiles tried not to tense as every single eye in the room turned to him.

"It..." Stiles couldn't help the cough that bubbled up his throat and cut off his words. The fit of chest wracking coughs hit him hard and before he knew it he was almost doubled over above the ground feeling as if the air was trying to crawl its way out of his lungs. It stopped after a few moments of mind numbing pain and he was able to take a few deep gulps of air in response. "Sorry, I couldn't say." Stiles' hoarse voice reverberated through the silent horror of the room. 

He was able to gather enough strength to look at the terrified faces around the table. Scott's hand hovered a few centimeters away from his skin looking as unsure as Stiles had ever seen him. Isaac's sad eyes looked wetter than usual. Erica and Boyd shared identical looks of bewildered horror, like they didn't understand what had just happen and really didn't like it. Allison's apathy was gone, but Stiles couldn't exactly decipher what was there. Lydia's stare was calculating as always, but this time it seemed geared towards painful retribution/ Even Jackson looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

"Isaac, got get a glass of water." Lydia's direction seemed to pull the rest of the room from their trance. Isaac scrambled away from the table and returned with an armful of water bottles in under a minute. He placed one gingerly in front of Stiles and piled the rest on the table. Stiles almost wanted to scowl at the unnecessary pity, but decided better of it and chugged the water.

Stiles cleared his throat and started again, this time making sure to avoid any _painful_ topics. "There are some things I can tell you though. The wiccans weren't actually wiccans." Lydia gave a slight glare at the obvious statement. "They were witches serving the goddess - never really remembered her name - of death and rebirth and goats. At least I think it was goats, I was never quite sure what goats had to do with anything, but they seemed very adamant it was important." Stiles purposefully caught Lydia's eye and her eyes widened slightly. "The town is cursed. I can tell you that much. I can't tell you why or how or how to break it. I can't even tell you if it can be broken. The witches disappeared before I woke up this morning. There were-" A small cough gurgled in warning, "-some of them." He finished lamely.

"Why is that happening?" Scott asked softly. His puppy eyes looked as watery as Isaacs. 

"There is more than one type of curse in the world Scott. There are ways to keep people from talking." He almost spat out. He had gone over this in the morning with Derek's body looming over him growling. "Really, how can you blame me? How could I have known what they were up to?"

The look from Lydia's eyes might as well have been battery acid because it could rend flesh from bone; and it was only focused on saying one thing, 'How couldn't you have know?'. "Seriously, Stiles?" She waved her arm around the room. "Look at this place, at us, what has happened to us all this last year, and you seriously are asking how you could have known? What was the probability that they weren't up to something?"

"Hey!" Stiles cried a little offended. "Why do you think I even went with them in the first place? You think I really wanted to hang around with the cast of Charmed in my free time? You were the one that wanted me to look more into magic. Deaton only knows so much. I did the best I could with limited resources. They looked harmless. Some middle aged hippies that liked incense and had dream catchers and had some books that looked interesting. How was I supposed to know they wanted to-" 

The coughing fit caught him off guard. It hit him like a bullet to the chest and felt just about as bad. Hands caught him from the side and helped him not fall to the floor. His chest hurt, so did his throat, really everything in his body was crying out in pain. There was a slight splatter of wet droplets that fell on his lips and he knew from the growls of the surrounding wolves that it was blood. Great now he had tuberculosis. 

A loud growl reverberated through the room and caused the rest of the teenagers to quiet down and move away from Stiles. It only took a moment before red eyes were looking into his and a large calloused hand was touching his face. Then things got very wobbly for a moment as the pain from his chest disappeared in a rush. Stiles sat gasping as the red drained from Derek's eyes. The rest of the pack and Allison stood a few feet behind them shifting nervously.

A rush of pleasure filled him - even when the pack was angry at him for what they saw as Stiles being at fault they still cared. The only way they had ever thrived was when they worked together. 

"Hook you up to an IV and sell you to thousands. That is some great shit right there." A few of the pack snorted and settled down back in their seats, pleased that Stiles was as back to normal as he was going to get. 

Derek straightened and nodded. "I brought someone." He gestured behind him and then Stiles was suddenly aware that there was another person in the room than there had been before his fit.

Robert Hangis was hogtied and bloody. Stiles didn't ask how he had found him and what had happened to him since, mostly because after a year of this crap it was kind of normal to bring home bloodied villains - Peter had just been the first of a long line. Everyone seemed to calm down when they saw him, which said a lot about pack mentality that their leader with a bloodied prisoner made everyone relax.

Boyd moved to him and cut the ties on his ankles. The man was placed in a broken chair that had a few flakey brown stains that could have only come from dried blood. The rest of the pack positioned themselves so they had a good view of the spectacle.

Derek prowled to Hangis and slapped him to wake him up. Hangis' head snapped to the side and he woke coughing. Stiles didn't feel the slightest pity.

Okay, that was a lie because they had tucked him into bed last night and Stiles couldn't hate anyone that took the time to do something like that for an enemy - even if they had cursed him.

"Talk." Derek was terse. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure if you looked up terse in the dictionary you would get a picture of Derek glaring you down. Still when all it took was a glare to get your point across maybe he didn't need to be anything more.  
Hangis spit out some blood and glared back at Stiles which was surprising. It was weird to think that Hangis who cooked macaroni and gardened could take a beating. Stiles turned away. He really didn't want to be feeling sympathy for this man or anyone of that group.

There were a few thumping sounds and groans, but no one was talking and it was getting awkward. Allison was looking slightly sick and very harsh and at some point during the painful coughing and beat down session her hand had found its way into Scotts. It made Stiles want to smack the both of them. He turned back to Hangis after a few minutes of this uselessness. It was then that he realized something strange. Hangis definitely looked younger than he had yesterday when they were setting up the spell, which meant that it was still working a little.

A light bulb went off in Stiles' head. He pulled out his wallet and dug through it. 

The picture had been taken a week ago. Apparently, there was a tradition of taking a new group picture when they added a member. It made Stiles more than a little sad, but he tugged it out without any mercy and nudged Lydia. He shoved the picture in her hand and stood up.

Lydia was a genius and they certainly didn't need Stiles around right now when it wouldn't help anything. The pack looked at him as he got up and walked away, but no one followed. Stiles wasn't sure if that made him relieved or sad.  
Beacon Hills wasn't cold for this time of year, but it wasn't hot either. Considering that no one in town right now had air conditioning it was for the best.  
He slid against the wall next to the door and took a few deep breaths. "Having a panic attack won't help anyone." Stiles reminded himself fiercely. "They can figure this out. They don't need you in there distracting them with all your problems." The speech that he forced himself to listen to helped a little.

It was stupid. This entire situation could have been avoided if Stiles had just been a little more suspicious about everything.

Lydia was right, he _should_ have known. Mysterious travelers come into town and open a shop dedicated to new age magic? In what universe did that not end badly? But they were harmless, or he had convinced himself of that.

The pack had been busy with growling at each other and training. The alpha pack had taken a chunk out of everyone's moral. Scott had been bemoaning Allison. Erica and Boyd were skirting around their sexual tension like there was a nuclear bomb about to explode if they mentioned it. Isaac just wanted everyone to get along, but still didn't mention the fact that he missed his abusive father. Derek had the emotion range and understanding of a thumbtack. Lydia and Jackson were being Lydia and Jackson. 

No one in the pack had understood how left out Stiles had been feeling. Isaac was hanging out more with Scott. Stiles understood it too much. It should have been easy to blame his best friend for forgetting him to hang out with his wolf buddies, but of the two of them Isaac needed that closeness more than Stiles did. So in his haste to belong he had gone searching for more knowledge on magic - the one thing that seemed that only he could contribute to the pack - which lead him to the wiccans.

He rubbed his hands together trying to get warmer. It seemed like the temperature was going to drop tonight after all. He fingers ran over a stretch of smooth skin on his arm that made him stop. He looked stunned down at the arm in the dim light around him. He had gotten a scratch along that arm two months ago. An omega had walked into town to find Derek and had ended up almost mauling Stiles. The only person who had been surprised about the bad luck was his father who thought he had fallen on broken glass in the lacrosse field. It had scarred over and everyone had forgotten about the incident. Until now when he was staring at his baby smooth arm that had no scar.

He didn't even realize he had started shaking until a warm hand settled itself on his shoulder. 

"I'm not sacrificing a goat." Stiles' laugh startled even him.

"That's okay Lydia, there are six werewolves in there who will gladly take that duty off your hands."

"So your saying there is goat sacrifice involved." Lydia settled down next Stiles. She didn't mention the dirt that was undoubtedly going on her jeans.

"I'm saying if someone did have to sacrifice a goat at any point in the future there is a miniscule possibility it would be you." A comfortable silence fell over them after Stiles clarified.

There were more stars visible than usual, but that was because there were less lights.

"Deaton knew of a few life extending spells." Stiles didn't tense, there was no need to. "There was one thing that all of them had in common."

"'In all things there must be balance. All magic must have a price. You give something to receive something.' Hangis told me that the day I walked into their store for the first time. I should've known right then. Stupid Hippies." Echoing an inside joke from not too long ago that now seemed sour in his mouth. 

"So, to get life you have to take a life." Lydia finished the thought had taken Stiles all of three weeks to fully understand. 

What they had asked of him when he was ignorant had seemed innocent enough. 'Help us feel young again, Stiles'. And why not? What could possibly go wrong with that. 

"So, you know what needs to happen?" Stiles asked after a few more minutes of silence. 

"There were a few rituals they could've used, but only one that honored goats. Derek has sent out our minions to get the required ingredients. Can you do the reversal?"

Stiles nodded, "I would have done it myself already, but it needs a bit more power than little ol' me can provide. The pack should have enough supernatural juju to boost me enough. Doing a ritual without being able to tell the participants about it is annoying. Besides, I knew you would figure it out."Stiles stood up and dusted off his pants. He held out a hand to Lydia. Her sharp eyes were still staring at him, but she allowed herself to get pulled up.

"You did good Stiles, no one is mad at you anymore. They get it. You saved an entire town of people."

"It was less powerful than they wanted. Can't get much life from inanimate objects, people will always give you more. They wouldn't have even been in danger if I hadn't been so stupid in the first place."

"So, if you weren't yourself, you mean?" Lydia flipped her hair and stalked back in to train station.

"Very _funny_." Stiles lamely called after her.

-.-.-.-

"Do I have to?" Isaac looked down at the wide eyes of the goat sadly.

Stiles didn't know where Derek had acquired a goat this late at night and didn't ask. Stiles rolled his eyes, "Yes." Of the pack Isaac was the most innocent, weirdly enough. He was the one that cared the most about other lives. Which meant that he was the one that had to sacrifice the goat. It was more powerful coming from him. 

There was a seven pointed star on the floor. Stiles stood at the top point. Scott stood across from Isaac. Erica across from Boyd, and Derek across from Jackson - who both looked like they wanted to kill everything. As balanced as Stiles was going to be able to make it. Seven was magically powerful too, so they had that working for them.

Deaton stood next to a blood drenched Hangis. Lydia and Allison stood fidgeting looking at the group, trying to appear nonchalant and mostly failing at it.

"Now we begin." Stiles nodded to Isaac.

Isaac grimaced but slid the knife across the throat of the baying animal. "This goat I give to you, Juno Caprotina, to reverse the spell that has been cast against this town."

Stiles' turn. "Atjic menaasi nhassik lineapoi. Strujgew BLIOAN!" Stiles shouted the last word and spread his arms out wide. 

The power that had been raising during the ritual gushed from him in a moment. It sapped him completely. Stiles felt his body go limp for the second time in two days. This time, unlike last time, there was someone to catch him. His entire body felt warm and tingly. He was pretty sure it was Boyd carrying him, but it really could have been anyone.

Stiles was happy when the couch that he got placed on was newer than the one he remembered from the last time he had opened his eyes. He braved the harsh light of the train station to glance around. Every second was getting him back to normal. Stiles' eyes fell upon the weathered face of Hangis, he at least had gained back the few years he had lost.

Stiles hand traced down his arm to the healed over scar and couldn't help the sigh of relief that came from him.

Stiles didn't know how long he lay there, but the room seemed empty when Derek walked over to him next.

"What were you saying?" The words caught Stiles off guard. "For the spell, it didn't sound like any language I have ever heard before."

Stiles let out a small laugh. "That's because it wasn't. My spells don't generally have words to go along with them, but to make them work you have to believe they will. If I had just had you stand in that position in silence you wouldn't have believed anything was happening. Easiest way is to spout of some gibberish and say a few fake prayers and alakazzam, everyone gets a pony." Derek gave him a look that said he thought Stiles was crazy, which was par for the course with Derek. 

"Did we really have to kill the goat?" 

"Yeah, that part was definitely real. Sacrifice from magic and all that shit. There are easier ways to do it nowadays, but they used the stupid ancient version of the spell so we had to use the stupid ancient reversal of it." Stiles closed his eyes. "Despite how easy you may seem to think magic is I assure you it isn't. I just make it look that way because I'm awesome."

Stiles was startled awake again as Derek pushed something on his chest. It took a minute to realize it was the picture that he had give to Lydia. 

"You are _ours_." Derek growled at him at him, and Stiles was confused.

"Wh-"

"Our pack. You belong with us, to us." He poked Stiles in the shoulder. "No joining other packs." He glared down at the picture like it had personally killed his cat. Stiles laughed, it hurt a little, but Stiles couldn't help it and didn't want to.

"Okay, sourwolf. No joining other packs." A rush of warmth filled him. 

He was pack and that wasn't going to change


End file.
